Is She Promised?
by Scribe Figaro
Summary: In death, the senses cannot be sated.  Desire, if formed, becomes insatiable.  Kikyou and Kagome.


**Is She Promised?  
Scribe Figaro**

**1.  
**_**Kagome breathed in, her face defiant, held the breath, met Kikyou's determined glare, and exhaled defeat.**_

Kikyou was Kagome, and Kagome was Kikyou.

Kikyou thought this way at times.

At the times she was most alive.

Kagome was younger; even forgetting those fifty years of nothing, she was some years younger in form, many years younger in heart. Kagome was impure in ways Kikyou was pure, and she was innocent in ways Kikyou was not innocent. Kagome held life. Breathed life. Spoke life. Was life. Kikyou was but a shadow. The last dream of a dying woman. An imitation of life.

Kikyou was an adult when she died. She was always an adult. Sister and guardian of Kaede. Mother and guardian of her village. Keeper and guardian of the Shikon no Tama. Lover and guardian of Inuyasha.

Ah, but her thighs, immobile, impassable as the mountain. Ah, but she sullied herself only in her heart.

Ah, but the heart is the only place where a woman can truly be unfaithful to herself.

She loved Inuyasha, or better, loved the idea of Inuyasha. Or better yet, lusted after the idea of Inuyasha. A man who would persist after her. A warm and vital creature. A hanyou. Forbidden, forbidden. Everything she was demanded she stay clear of the temptations he coolly offered to her. Had her teacher been there, she would have held fast. Had Tsubaki been there, she would have held fast. But she spent too many years alone, or she should say, just long enough to harden her heart so that it could no longer yield, so that it would be brittle and weighty and a handle fate could grip to draw her toward failure and death.

Now she wandered, a guardian spirit with nothing to guard, and her skin was plaster, and her insides so hollow. She thought she was empty before, lacking, needing. But now, souls of women danced in the vacuum of her chest, the space just beneath the curve of her belly, the void between her legs. The souls whispered and snickered, caressed and taunted, saying, "Here is where your heart would be, if you were flesh," and "Here is where your soul would be, if you were alive," and "Here is where your womb would be, if you were a woman." The souls were those of girls who had died of sickness, mostly, but many died of starvation, and many took their own lives for foolish reasons that usually had to do with love. Those were the most ill-mannered of all, and in quiet moments they pontificated on Kikyou's nether regions and men masturbating with clay pots.

Kikyou could ignore the shrewish amusement any hour of the day, and to be fair, it often took great effort for her to listen to her borrowed souls, and though they never had anything but snide comments and loathing, she spent much of her hours listening and hating herself.

She listened because, once in a while, she found the one good voice. The piece of a soul she had kept with her since the witch resurrected her. The soul she was born with, lived with, died with. The soul born again in Kagome, stolen from Kagome, and held now, despite all odds. The thing that kept Kikyou alone, away from the miko she should be teaching as her successor: so worried – so frightened – was she, that Kagome would unwillingly snatch the rest of her back when Kikyou let her guard down.

The soul that was Kikyou that was Kagome was mostly quiet, as she usually could not make her voice heard above the belligerent teeming that was Kikyou's heartbeat. But she spoke sometimes. Of her brother, Souta. Of her parents. And she told Kikyou she was a good person, and that she was such an excellent archer, and that she was so beautiful. She, who lived among the clay and bones and ash that made her form, told her she was beautiful, and for some moments, Kikyou was filled. Her heart almost beat, her belly almost quivered, her skin almost flushed, and she was warm and vital and lovely.

Kikyou wondered how much of Kagome's soul had been inside her when she was first resurrected, and how much of the fear and blind hate of her first few minutes of almost-life was now part of Kagome's mind. How much memory was shared between them? And, more importantly, that one jewel, that fragment of soul: how much of that sentiment was in Kagome the girl? Kagome, who Kikyou tried to kill; Kagome, who saved Kikyou's life.

Such thoughts kept her awake at night, and frustrated, and the other souls mocked her, and her embarrassment was of that of a boy caught undressing his sister's clay dolls, fingers tracing the hard and crude surfaces, and Kagome's soul witnessed shameful and futile acts, and told her it was beautiful.

**2.  
**_**"My body."**_

At first, Kikyou thought she could still love Inuyasha, or at least, still hate him, but that fire burned like a forge, and Kikyou lacked determination to stoke it for very long, and now all she had for him was cold ash. He could live or die, he could love her or love another, and Kikyou did not have the energy to judge or care. He made a promise to protect her, as stupid men do, and it seemed he barely spoke the words before it was clear to both of them such a promise could not be kept. What does one protect a dead woman from, anyway? And, god, did she really fall in love with such posturing? Did she, a woman of eighteen summers, of virginal heart, virginal body, never touched, never kissed, - did she really die in the name of childish infatuation?

Clearly, she had. She had, so like a man, thought with her belly, and thrown away the lesson taught to her endlessly since she was a little girl: Love is the enemy. The worst of enemies, for it looks and feels fair before it turns foul. If you love, you will die.

It was perhaps a blessing Naraku pierced her breast before Inuyasha pierced her maidenhead, as the first wound merely killed her. The deeper death would have happened eventually, and Inuyasha would have rendered her powerless and dependent upon him, and Kikyou would have thrown away a lifetime of studious dedication and rigorous training.

And still, she was certain, Kikyou would not have been filled.

**3.  
**_**"You will show me?"**_

If she was not ashamed of what she was, and if Inuyasha did not tirelessly chase after her, and continually mock their foolish past with awkward glances and strained utterances of her name, she would have liked to travel beside Kagome. She had much to teach the girl. Her grandfather was a good man, but a less than capable priest, and teaching a girl how to wear hakama, and perhaps showing her how to tell fortunes and hock trinkets back when she was twelve and still listened to her elders, did not make her a miko by any means. She had such incredible potential, and so much of it had gone to waste. That she could manifest any spiritual powers at all was miraculous, and Kikyou could not help but despair that, had Kagome trained as Kikyou trained, Naraku would have died on their first encounter.

But Kikyou could not judge too harshly, for Kagome was strong in ways Kikyou was not. She could love in ways Kikyou could not love. She could love freely, and be hurt, and become stronger. She could be fooled, and manipulated, and she would always escape clean and pure. Naraku could not corrupt her. Kanna could not take her soul.

Kikyou would have liked to travel with Kagome, so that Kagome could teach her these things.

**4.  
**_**"Yes."**_

The nights would be cold, and they would sleep beside each other, and Kikyou had no warmth to herself, but plenty from Kagome. The girl would whisper secrets she could tell to no one but herself, and Kikyou would smile and nod knowingly, and wish she had secrets to tell. Kagome would argue, certainly Kikyou had secrets, and Kikyou would tell her. Kikyou would tell her what it was to be empty, to have no sensation, no pleasure, to have the appearance of a woman, the memory of a woman, but not be a woman. To be frustrated and ashamed. Dissatisfied. Unfilled. To never be filled. Ever.

Kagome would cry for her, and embrace her.

**5.  
**_**"You will teach me?"**_

In the hottest baths, beneath the coldest waterfalls, they would meditate.

**6.  
**_**"Yes."**_

When the night was too warm to sleep, and all was breath and sweat, and there was only one secret left that had not been spoken, Kikyou would lie beside Kagome, place her hand on her shoulder, and whisper in her ear: "This was never a friendship. You have something I need."

Kagome would be quiet for a while, and then respond, "I knew that from the beginning."

**7.  
**_**"Kikyou's hand moved like water."**_

_You are too innocent for this world, Kagome. This world is violent and cruel. You do not know the things women know. You do not know the pain of love. The pain that Inuyasha gives you now is nothing compared to the pain he wants to give you. You will, in the name of love, submit to this pain, and you will accept that your body is for his pleasure, that you will exchange use of your flesh for his loyalty. And then you will be damned._

_This, I cannot allow._

**8.  
**_**"No," said Kagome.**_

Kikyou did not particularly hate men. She bore no dislike for Miroku, for example. For Inuyasha was a child who sometimes acted like a man. , while Miroku was a man who sometimes acted like a child. Further, he was a good enough man to seek out not a _girl_ but a _woman_ – Sango was not much older than Kagome, but she carried the shield of her father and her village, and conducted herself as such, and she would not ever fall in love with a man who did not respect this.

Inuyasha fell in love with Kagome, possibly because he saw Kikyou in her, but he stayed in love with her because she was a child, innocent and naïve, because she didn't know she could do better, because he could claim her, with his rigid cock a banner, planted firmly in the valley of her conquered lands, and her screams of agony and blood would please him, proof that he and only he was the one to ruin her, and even though he would no doubt whisper apologies, he would not let himself see her tears and clenched teeth, and thrust in her, taking pleasure in the cavern torn open and lubricated with her blood, and after squirting in the tattered remnants of her womanhood, he would collapse beside her, murmur hollow words of affection, and Kagome would remain motionless on her back, the delicate flesh between her thighs stretched into a gaping hole, pouring blood on the sheets, and she would pray that she be pregnant, if that would mean she could go months without having to experience that again.

With hindsight, Kikyou realized that this could easily have been her fate as well. She too had been innocent and naïve. She too had relied too much on a man.

**9.  
**_**Kikyou's hand became still.**_

"Purity means refraining from that which is impure. It does not mean being quick to shame. It does not mean avoidance of natural pleasure. It does not mean refraining from that which is pure."

**10.  
**_**Kagome placed her hand over Kikyou's hand.**_

One hand, cold, uncertain, began to trace a line down Kagome's arm, and stopped, for here was a line she feared to cross; a priestess must not open the shrine doors except on the festival day, and even on that special day she must never enter. She was not pure enough; no woman was pure enough; the spirits that resided there would flee and not return.

Kagome's breath became irregular, discomforted by the touch, but more by the pause, and far more so by what thoughts, she imagined, had rendered that pause.

"Is there . . . anything?" Kagome prompted. "Is there anything there? Between?"

Kagome's soul carried some knowledge into Kagome; she knew what a Barbie doll was – a thing with large, unlikely breasts, thin waist, wide hips, and vulva painted over; the opposite of the sort of fertility dolls which were so common generations ago, and which she would sometimes come across in small villages. It was a woman who birthed the world, and Kikyou was forever removed from that legacy.

"No. Nothing."

_Do old women become nostalgic about menstruation? I am sixty-eight years old, even if I spent fifty of those years dead._

"So you can't . . ."

"No."

"But if you could . . ."

_Do you look like me, Kagome? Your face and body have youth. Did I look like you when I was sixteen? Will you look like me when you are eighteen?_

The priestess propped herself upon her elbow and stared down the young girl laying on her back.

"Your soul is mine," Kikyou said, which would in most circumstances be an obscene threat, but in this case it was more a bookkeeper reviewing his ledger and making note of a debt.

"You died," Kagome said. "It was mine to take."

"I need it back. I was not finished."

"You can't have it."

"I need it."

"Take something else."

Kikyou's grip tightened.

"I will take something else."

Kagome's breath, soft waves breaking and receding upon the beach.

"Offer me something," Kikyou said.

"I don't . . ."

"Offer me something against your soul."

"I can't . . ."

"My _soul_, Kagome. What do you have, what could you possibly have, that would be worth my soul?"

"My . . . mind," Kagome whispered.

"I have my own mind. Offer me something I do not have."

"Then . . ."

"Your soul I cannot have. Your mind I cannot use. What remains, Kagome?"

**11.**

"_**Like this."**_

Kagome breathed in, her face defiant, held the breath, met Kikyou's determined glare, and exhaled defeat.

"My body."

"You will show me?"

"Yes."

"You will teach me?"

"Yes."

Kikyou's hand moved like water.

"No," said Kagome.

Kikyou's hand became still.

Kagome placed her hand over Kikyou's hand.

"Like this."

_Is she weird? Is she white?  
Is she promised to the night?  
And her head has no room  
And her head has no room  
- The Pixies_


End file.
